


Loveable

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Declarations Of Love, M/M, Oblique mention of past drug use, Reluctant sherlock, Self-Esteem Issues, Trust Issues, determined john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 12:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7714111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: John tells Sherlock he loves him. Sherlock at first doesn't believe it and thinks John must be making fun of him, and when John finally convinces him, he has a sort of panic attack because it's such a shock for him. Cue lots of comfort and reassurance from John, who's heartbroken that Sherlock thinks himself so unlovable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loveable

Sherlock turned from the window to face John. The doctor seemed to be fumbling with his words more than normal. The detective was about to comment on that fact when his world was completely upended by three simple words.

"I love you," John finally said, simply, and waited for his flatmate's response.

Sherlock stared at him. He didn't move. He didn't blink.

"Sherlock…" John tried to get anything out of the younger man, but the detective pushed passed him and headed to the door - and straight out of it. The doctor was left standing, looking where Sherlock had disappeared. He had cocked it up and ruined everything. After what seemed like an eternity, John ran after the detective, but he had already disappeared down the stairs and onto the London streets.

It was hours later, that John found Sherlock, with the help of Mycroft and his minions. He found him on the bench they liked to frequent on cases in the park.

"I wasn't lying," was the first thing the doctor said as he approached.

"You think me a fool?!" Sherlock spat, not looking up at him. He knew there was no point running again, John had found him because of his brother and therefore his brother had the park surrounded.

John sat down on the bench. "Yes, but not like you mean." He looked out across the way trying to think what best to say. "I love you. Is that so hard to believe?"

Sherlock stood, stamping his foot. "Yes!" He hissed. He walked a few paces ahead of the older man, until he felt content he was far enough away.

"But why?!" John asked, frustrated.

"The only people who care about me are family," the detective spat. "And that is from familial obligation. If they could, they would sweep me under the carpet and forget about me."

Now the doctor stood. "Don't be absurd."

"Absurd? Me? You're the one who's been dancing around me for days… all to tell me some pathetic lie to see how I would react!"

John clenched his left hand into a fist. "It's not. A bloody lie. You idiot."

"It always has been a lie. It always will be." Sherlock started pacing. "I love you Sherlock. Would you help me with this class. I love you Sherlock. Thanks for the shag. I love you Sherlock. I told you the drugs would make you feel good. No the next hit isn't free." He turned and snarled at John. "So, you've said the words. What is it you want from me?"

John froze where he stood, staring at the younger man.

"What?" Sherlock spat. "Tell me what you want, or better yet tell my fucking brother, he'll do whatever it is."

"There's not one damned thing I want to tell Mycroft. But you're right." John nodded. "There is something I want from you."

"I'm always right," Sherlock snarled.

"I want a relationship with you. I want hugs and kisses. I want years of arguments and making up. If it's something you want, I want sex with you. I want to grow old and retire with you and watch you raise those bees you're always going on about. So, yes, I do want something from you, you git, because I. Love. You."

John had stepped forward and taken Sherlock's hands that had been balled into fists.

"And what if I want to walk out of this park? Will you order my brother's men out of the way?"

John let out a dry chuckle. "Maybe you're not always right. Do you really think I could tell them to do anything Mycroft didn't want them to do?"

Sherlock snorted and jerked his hands away, then started pacing again.

"If you really think so little of me-" The doctor took a few steps away, then paused. "If you really think so little of me, I'll move out. You'll never have to see me again. At least that way you'll eventually figure out that I wasn't playing some game or trying to get something from you. Maybe you'll look back on this and understand that you're loveable and you'll let someone do it, even if it's not me." With that, John resumed walking away.

Sherlock watched him go, sighing angrily. He sat back down on the bench and stared at his feet. Let him go. He didn't care. He couldn't allow himself to.

It was a matter of minutes before footsteps made him grumble to himself. "I thought you said you would leave," he hissed.

"Fucking hell, Sherlock. I tried."

That made the detective look up. He had been so caught up in his own misery he'd missed the fact that 5 people had approached rather than 1.

John was surrounded by armed men, his hands held up and his SIG in the hands of the man to his right.

"I told you they wouldn't do what I said."

One of the men gave John a gentle shove towards the bench. "Why don't you have a seat, Doctor Watson?"

Sherlock found himself glaring at the man and... growling. How dare anyone push John, no matter how gently. "How about you piss off and tell my brother to piss off as well."

"I thought we'd made it quite clear. We serve Mr. Holmes. Not his petulant baby brother."

Sherlock got to his feet and looked for a moment like he was going to swing a punch.

One of the men gave Sherlock a gentle shove back to the bench, much as they had to John.

"Work it out, gentlemen. None of us want to be out here all day."

The detective stuck his tongue out at the man.

With a shrug, the men backed away and melted into near obscurity, but both John and Sherlock knew they were there. They couldn't not know.

The doctor gave a chuckle, then he started giggling. "You stuck your tongue out at armed men."

"And he wouldn't dare harm a hair on my head if he liked his own. Like I said, family obligation. Mycroft's family obligation."

"You could delete what I said," John suggested, not liking the thought one bit. "Or you could tell me the name of the bastards that made you so jaded and I could pay a visit to each and every one of them. Mycroft might even keep me out of jail for doing the things I'd like to do to them."

Sherlock sank back onto the bench, not wanting to speak with John anymore. "Phone Mycroft," he ordered the nearest man.

"Why?" He asked.

"Because I want to speak to him, you imbecile, why else would I want you to phone him?!"

"He doesn't want to be disturbed."

"Fuck what he wants." When they still didn't move to comply the detective stood.  
"You can't very well shoot me so… Call him or I walk away."

The man sighed and dialled the elder Holmes. After a few exchanged words, he handed his phone to Sherlock.

"Brother-mine, what do you want?"

"To go home."

"You can. On one condition."

"No conditions Mycroft! Tell me what are they going to do if I just climb the fence? They can't shoot me. So tell your dogs to fuck off."

"Don't do this, Sherlock. Don't throw away a chance for happiness. John's not like the others." Mycroft paused, "But I don't really have to tell you that, not if you're honest with yourself." He breathed deeply. "Fine. Go home. Just take John with you and, brother dear... think about it."

"Or what?" He snarled, but Mycroft had already rung off.

"God dammit." He threw the phone on the ground, not caring it wasn't his.

John was still on the bench, he wasn't moving, except his feet which were kicking at the gravel near him.

Sherlock rounded on John, prepared to blast him with scathing, rapid-fire words. Instead he froze. John's eyes were red rimmed and he was holding onto the bench so tightly that his knuckles had gone white - his attention on nothing but the ground where he was kicking. For some reason his heart launched itself out of his chest and into his throat. "John…" he broke off. "I may have been slightly… hasty."

That made the doctor stand. "Yeah, maybe you fucking were."

Sherlock heard a voice screaming inside his head, telling him to go to John and apologise, beg for forgiveness, grovel, but he couldn't move. His chest ached and he couldn't seem to breathe. Even his vision went off, the world tunneling out before him. The detective took a step, staggered and went to one knee as his hands flew to his curls.

"Sherlock?" John instantly panicked. "What is it?" He nearly called over a couple of the guards that were hidden in the trees.

"This is my fault!" He snapped up at him. "I'm no good at this and I'm not... not what you said. Loveable."

John had had enough. He fell to his knees on the ground and hugged the detective. "As far as I'm concerned, you're the only person I'll ever love, so you're fucking loveable. I've just changed my mind. You're not getting rid of me. Ever."

"Why?" Sherlock's voice sounded broken like a child's.

"Shh," he glanced up at the men in he hedge. "We're going home now. And you aren't stopping us."

The detective let himself get helped to his feet, but he didn't offer to take a step.

"I'll be happy to carry you," John said with a quirk of his eyebrow. "I mean it. We're going back to Baker Street. Together."

The detective gave a small nod and started walking. He didn't object when John took his customary place by his side. Well, almost his customary place. The doctor walked a bit closer to him than usual, then he decided he'd had enough of Sherlock's slow pace so picked him up and threw him over his shoulder.

"John!" Sherlock kicked his legs to no avail. "Put me down!"

"Nope. You were going too slow. The sooner I get you home, the better."

"We are not going home for a shag," Sherlock lashed out verbally. Maybe John did love him. Maybe he loved him as much as Sherlock loved John, but he didn't trust the truth of it just yet.


End file.
